Chapter 2

I move away from the door before anyone comes out.

There's a short hallway near the restrooms. I stand there with the cake pressed against my coat while one of Ryan's friends crosses the bar.

He stops beside a group of women.

Points toward the private room.

A few minutes later, three of them follow him back.

I tell myself to leave.

Instead, I take one last look.

Ryan shifts over to make room for a woman in a red dress. She says something I can't hear, and he laughs.

His arm settles along the couch behind her.

I recognize that movement.

The easy invitation. The space made beside him.

He used to do it when he saw me walking toward him across a crowded room.

The woman leans closer.

Ryan touches her face.

Then he kisses her.

I turn away before they stop.

Outside, the air is cold enough to hurt.

I stand beside a trash can with the cake box still in my hands.

It takes me a moment to let go.

Then the box drops.

I leave the card where it is.

My phone buzzes before I reach the corner.

A picture from Ryan.

He's sitting between two friends, smiling at the camera. The woman in the red dress is outside the frame.

Wish you were here, baby. Hope work isn't too awful.

I stop under the awning of a closed store.

Another message appears.

Don't worry about me. These idiots are keeping me entertained.

I look at his face.

The same face I've watched across breakfast tables for years. The one I used to search for in a crowd without thinking.

We met when I was twenty-three.

I was exhausted from classes and convinced I didn't have time for a relationship. Ryan brought coffee anyway.

When I mentioned missing the cookies from a bakery near my old apartment, he drove across town to get them.

He once waited three hours outside the testing center, then held me while I cried because I was sure I'd failed.

For my birthday, he booked a restaurant I'd only mentioned once.

I used to count those things when something felt wrong.

When he flirted too long.

When he called me sensitive.

When I found myself apologizing at the end of an argument I hadn't started.

I counted every kind thing he'd ever done and used them to explain away the rest.

My phone buzzes again.

Also, about last night. We should've used a condom. You're taking care of it, right? Really not the time for a baby.

I read it twice.

We talked about it this morning. I've already handled it.

What hurts is the assumption underneath the message.

His birthday. His fun. His future.

My responsibility to make sure none of it becomes inconvenient.

I type:

Already handled.

His reply is immediate.

Knew I could count on you. Love you.

I put the phone in my pocket.

It starts raining on the walk home.

I don't stay outside to punish myself. I duck into a pharmacy, buy an umbrella, and wait beneath the awning while I open it.

Such an ordinary thing.

Taking care of myself.

By the time I reach our apartment, my shoes are wet and my hands have stopped shaking.

We've lived here for three years.

Our graduation photographs sit on the bookshelf. There's a mug in the sink with his coffee still drying at the bottom.

My sweater hangs over the back of a chair.

Nothing looks different.

I wish it did.

I take a shower. Put on clean clothes. Sit down at the desk in the spare room.

An email from Dr. Patel is still near the top of my inbox.

The research fellowship in Boston.

I applied months ago. Went through the interviews. Asked questions about the work, the funding, the schedule.

Then the offer arrived, and Ryan asked what he was supposed to do for a year.

"Visit," I said.

He laughed.

"You're seriously thinking about leaving me here?"

I told the program I needed a little time.

The acceptance deadline is Monday.

Tonight is Friday.

I open the offer again.

Since the offer arrived, I've kept rereading it, trying to work out how to make the move easier for Ryan.

Flights. Weekends. Holidays.

An apology for wanting something I've worked toward.

I start a reply.

Thank you for your patience. I'm delighted to accept the fellowship.

I read it once.

Then I send it.

A few minutes later, I write to Dr. Patel.

I've accepted Boston. Thank you for encouraging me to apply.

Her reply comes while I'm brushing my teeth.

Wonderful news, Claire. We'll talk on Monday.

I put the phone on the bedside table.

There's no message I need to send Ryan tonight.

For once, this decision doesn't need to go through him.